Spooky Stories

by Tanushree Podder

  ‘I am willing to wait.’

  ‘I will have to leave you in the restaurant and go to the vehicle. It has to be parked at a distance behind a dune, so no one can see it. I will also bring water, food and a torch,’ he said.

  There was no way I was willing to let him go without me. ‘I will accompany you,’ I said. ‘We can pick up some food and drinks and then drive behind the dune and wait for sunset.’

  Time passed in slow motion as, seated in the vehicle, we sweltered in the heat. The sun went down at last and darkness began to fall. The two of us began trekking towards the valley, our backpacks filled with food and water. I felt an overwhelming sense of adventure as I trudged through the sand.

  With the moon shining overhead and the wind howling through the valley, we covered the distance to a series of caves. About forty-five minutes later, the two of us were standing at the mouth of the cave that led to the tomb. There was a board outside announcing that excavation was in progress and entry was prohibited. A barrier had been erected to keep out curious tourists. Ignoring the board, the two of us circumvented the barrier and entered the cave.

  The burial chamber was not a large one like that of Tutankhamen but not very small either. Since the walls were elaborately painted with scenes of daily activities and Egyptian gods, I was sure that a member of the royal family had been buried in the chamber.

  Khaled switched on the torch and we stumbled through a cramped passage with uneven ground, reaching a larger enclosure which served as an antechamber. Although the area had been partially cleared, there was a lot of rubble all around. I gaped at the stunning hieroglyphs and statues around us. There was a series of decorative paintings illustrating the life of the princess, who lay buried in the tomb. Sculptures of all kinds stared at us from the walls, their colours as bright as when they had been painted.

  Like a man possessed, I began taking pictures with my camera. This was a treasure beyond imagination.

  ‘The tomb is believed to be more than 3800 years old,’ Khaled said, his voice echoing within the enclosure.

  The antechamber ended in a dusty shaft. ‘Where’s the sarcophagus?’ I asked excitedly. ‘Did they find any treasures?’

  To prevent defiling and theft, the tombs and treasures were generally located in well-hidden chambers. It was likely that the dusty and narrow shaft led to the burial chamber.

  ‘I don’t know, effendi. Most of the tombs have been raided by thieves and the valuables have been carted away. Besides, the officials are not likely to disclose the details of the treasures found in the burial chambers.’

  We tied handkerchiefs around our faces to cover our noses and began walking towards the shaft, with Khaled holding up the torch to light the way. Bent low, we entered the seemingly unending shaft that was inclined downward. I was sure it would lead us to the burial chamber.

  The opening widened after a little while and we entered another room. This one was even more brightly painted. Perhaps the elements had failed to reach the enclosure, I surmised. Broken fragments of pottery and other artefacts pointed to the fact that the room had held many treasures. Although there were no pieces of jewellery or expensive funerary artefacts, there were dozens of ushabti statues, which were supposed to serve as servants in the afterlife. This proved that the burial chamber belonged to a member of the royal family.

  ‘We have to hurry, effendi,’ Khaled told me. ‘The battery of my torch will not last forever and getting out of this maze will take some time.’

  I hurried after him into an adjoining room that seemed to be the burial chamber. The walls were covered with statues. Among them was a huge one of Anubis, its wolf head casting an ominous spell over the place. A large pit had been dug in the centre of the chamber and I wondered if it was the location of a tomb. Perplexed, I stared around me. There was no sign of the sarcophagus.

  ‘Where is the sarcophagus? Haven’t they found it yet?’

  ‘I don’t know. Work is still going on. The casket is often hidden well so that it is not defiled,’ Khaled replied. ‘Be careful, effendi. If you fall into the pit, it will be difficult to get you out.’

  I stepped cautiously around the borders of the pit to study the statue of a pharaoh, when a scream rang through the room. Khaled had fallen into the pit. His torch had fallen too and there was pitch-black darkness around us.

  ‘Help!’ he shouted. ‘Help me, effendi.’

  ‘Hold on, Khaled, I will get you out,’ I said, although I was clueless as to how I would do that. It was a fairly deep pit and clambering out without the help of a ladder seemed difficult.

  My eyes hunted for a rope or some implement that could be used to help the guide, but I found nothing. There were some wooden planks near the pit, but they were too heavy to be of any use.

  Switching on the flashlight on my phone, I placed it on the ground and stretched my hand towards the poor chap. He tugged at my hand and began clambering out, while I dug my toes in for support. It is difficult to help a grown man out of a pit, I realized, as my shoulder joint seemed to get dislocated with the weight. The guide dangled, trying to find a foothold on the wall of the pit. There was none.

  Just then, the huge statue of Anubis detached itself from the wall. The black jackal head with pointed ears, and a pair of gleaming eyes created a terrifying visual. It seemed to be enraged at our presence in the tomb. For a moment, the entire space seemed lit up with the fire in those eyes.

  I sprang back in alarm. Before I could collect my wits, the heavy statue had fallen over Khaled. It covered the pit entirely. Stunned, I watched as my guide was buried under the statue. I screamed.

  It took several minutes for me to recover, and then I realized that Khaled was suffocating under the statue. Dazed and shocked, I stood staring at the pit. I was the only one who could help him. Desperate, I hunted around for a tool to help me dislocate the heavy statue, but there was none. Minutes ticked away. By then I was sure the poor man was dead, crushed under the statue of Anubis.

  All of a sudden, the statue began rising from the pit. Right before my stunned eyes, it went back to its original place. Everything was restored to its former state. It was now exactly the way it had looked when we entered the chamber. The only difference was that Khaled’s crushed body lay in the pit.

  I panicked. The battery in Khaled’s torch had already died, and I was using the light in my phone to guide my path. I had to get out of the tomb before the battery in my phone also died. Once that happened, there would be no light to guide my way and I would be trapped in the tomb till morning. That was not something I wanted. Once the security and excavation teams arrived, there would be uncomfortable questions to answer. I could be jailed for barging into a prohibited area. With Khaled dead there was no one who could help me in dealing with the local authorities.

  In the dim light of the phone, I could not find my way out of the burial chamber. Like a trapped animal, I ran from one end to the other, anxiety robbing me of logical thinking. I was unable to locate the shaft that would lead to the exit.

  Anubis began laughing as I scurried around like a rat. The laughter was taken up by the other statues on the wall. The sound of collective laughter echoed around the burial chamber, adding to the eeriness around me. It grew in volume and level, grating on my nerves. In the dim light, I searched frantically for an escape. My head was spinning and my legs had turned to jelly.

  Minutes ticked away and my desperation grew. Drained of energy and my breathing shallow, I wondered if I was destined to die in that chamber.

  Just as I was about to give up, the statue of Anubis raised its hand and pointed towards a corner. I followed the direction indicated by the God of the Dead. My eyes spotted the shaft. Bowing my head in reverence to Anubis, I rushed towards the shaft and stumbled through the antechamber, not stopping for a moment till I was out in the open.

  I lay stupefied on the sand, trying to come to terms with the things that had taken place inside the tomb. I lost track of time. Dawn was breaking as
I trudged back to the vehicle. Thankfully, the MUV (multi-utility vehicle) was equipped with Google Maps. It helped me find my way to the city.

  For the next twenty-four hours, I sank into a heavy slumber which was punctuated by nightmares. I woke up with a heavy feeling of guilt. It was because of my insistence to explore the burial chamber that the guide now lay dead inside the open pit. There were moments of disbelief interspersed with wonder. Did it really happen? Did the statue of Anubis break away from the wall to bury Khaled?

  I was going crazy with a dozen thoughts crowding my mind. Desperate to get away from everything, I embarked on the Nile cruise that had been booked for me. It was a three-day cruise that would take me through historical areas like Aswan, Kom Ombo, Edfu and Luxor. No matter how much I tried, it was impossible to forget the incident inside the burial chamber.

  In the meantime, newspapers reported the strange death of a guide inside a tomb in the Valley of Queens. The body had been identified and an autopsy had been carried out. The body bore marks of extensive injuries and the death had been caused by suffocation, said the reports. Thankfully, there were no mentions of an Indian tourist who had accompanied the guide. I let out a sigh of relief.

  On the very first night of the cruise, I was woken up by loud raps on the door of my cabin.

  My voice shaking with unease, I asked, ‘Who’s that?’

  For a few minutes, there was no reply and then the rapping began again. I repeated my question.

  ‘You have not paid the agreed amount, effendi,’ came a whispered reply.

  It was Khaled’s voice. In an instant, I sprang out of the bed and went near the door. From the peephole, I tried to see the person outside. There was no one.

  ‘You owe me money, effendi,’ Khaled’s voice reminded me.

  ‘Go away, Khaled,’ I shouted and crept back into my bed. The knocking on the door continued for the entire night. I buried my head under the pillows but it was not possible to shut out the sound.

  The rapping and appeals continued for the next three nights till I was close to a nervous breakdown. I tried taking sleeping pills, drank myself silly, but couldn’t sleep. I could not eat, either. My life turned into a living hell. My much-anticipated cruise was turning into a disaster.

  My eyes took on a hollow look, dark shadows forming under them. I began losing weight rapidly. The doctor on board who examined me could find no reason for my declining health.

  On the third day, the cruise was completed and I decided to end my agony. Carrying the money I had promised to pay Khaled, I drove towards the very tomb where he had died. I parked the MUV where we had parked the last time and trudged back to the tomb to place the envelope with the money at the entrance. Along with the money, I also placed a bouquet of white lilies.

  There were no more raps on my door that night. I woke up the next morning and found a note that had been slipped under the door of the hotel room.

  ‘Thank you, effendi! My soul would not have found peace if I had not paid the promised money to the security officer at the tomb.’

  The next morning, I flew back to India.

  In the course of the next few months, I learnt that the Egyptians believed in clearing all debts. They take the matter of debt very seriously and believe that were a man to die owing a debt, he would not enter Paradise until his debt was paid off.

  I have often wondered why Anubis decided to take Khaled’s life, while showing me the path to the exit. Was it because I was a guest, or had Khaled committed a sin by disturbing the dead when he led a stranger into the tomb, or was it his greed that caused his death? I haven’t found any answers.’

  3

  THE TREASURE CHEST

  There was a pause for several minutes as everyone absorbed the story. Many questions troubled Anirudh’s mind. How could a statue detach itself from the wall and kill someone? The architect had to be lying, he felt.

  ‘I don’t believe your story,’ Anirudh declared. ‘It doesn’t seem logical.’

  ‘There are a lot of illogical things in life,’ said the architect. ‘I wouldn’t have believed the incident, had I not experienced it first-hand.’

  ‘Admit it or not, ghosts do exist,’ insisted the soldier.

  ‘Can we stop the arguments and start the next story?’ said the jeweller, who had appointed himself as the referee. ‘Who would like to narrate the next story?’

  A hand went up in the dark and a voice said, ‘I would like to be the next one to tell a story.’ Anirudh peered in the darkness to look at the man.

  All he could make out was that the gentleman had a long flowing beard. Most of his face was hidden behind his beard and twirling moustache. A hat sat rakishly on his head. The man spoke in a wheezy voice.

  ‘You may scoff at the mention of ghostly or supernatural happenings, but I have experienced such things. Let me assure you that they occur.’

  Interested in the story, Anirudh pulled his chair closer to hear him better. Soon, everyone began to pull their chairs closer and the circle grew smaller.

  ‘Let me tell you a few words about myself, before I begin my story,’ said the narrator.

  ‘Today, sitting in this circle of strangers, I have no hesitation in admitting that I am a ruthless man, given to breaking laws whenever it suits me. I am a rich man and not all my riches have come by walking the straight path. You may call me a crook, if you wish.’

  ‘So, what is your profession?’ asked the writer, warming up to the story. The man was candid, even if he was a crook. To admit corruption in a gathering required courage.

  ‘I belong to a place called Baunsi, which lies near the border between Bihar and Jharkhand. Forty years back, my father migrated to Mumbai in search of a fortune. I was just fifteen years old at that time,’ he continued.

  ‘We started our life in a shanty in one of the largest slums in the city. Although we didn’t have much, my father’s business acumen turned our fortunes around. He invested his savings into a shop that sold construction material. Those were the most difficult days of our lives. It was an uphill struggle to build up the business. It took him more than a decade to establish himself.

  Through sheer persistence and hard work, my father expanded his business and diversified into building residential apartments. Eventually, I inherited the construction business. My job requires me to buy real estate in prime locations, so we can build commercial as well as residential complexes.

  Although we lived in Mumbai, my parents didn’t lose their love for the hometown. Every year, we went back to our small house in Baunsi. Due to his business commitments, Father had to get back to Mumbai after a week, but we often stayed on for a month or more, enjoying the fresh air and leisurely life at the small town.

  Years passed and our business grew, but Father never got over his fascination for one particular mansion at Baunsi, which belonged to the erstwhile zamindar. I had seen him stand and stare longingly at the large colonial house with extensive gardens half-hidden behind amaltas and kadam trees. Years passed but his desire to own the mansion didn’t decline. Instead, it was transmitted to me. I found myself sharing his fascination for the property. I didn’t know how and when, but my mind had been made up. I decided to buy it one day.

  Father passed away when I was twenty-three. By then, we were firmly established in the construction business and I had earned a fairly good reputation as a builder. The dream of owning the zamindar’s mansion hadn’t left me, though I had a plush apartment in Andheri.

  For several years, due to business commitments, I couldn’t visit Baunsi. It was more than twenty years before I could go back. In the meantime, my mother had also passed away and my siblings had gone their way.

  I was about forty-five when I stood before the mansion once again. It was evident that it had not been inhabited for a long time. The ornate gate was hanging loose on its rusted hinges, the gardens were overrun with weeds and waist-high grass. The exterior of the main building was covered with cracks, its grandeur having faded. I wa
s shocked to see its state.

  The ornate bay windows, which had fascinated me, displayed broken glass. The solid teak door with a stylish knocker had been vandalized and the house was a mere shell now. How and when had this happened? I felt sad for my dream mansion. There had to be a reason for its derelict condition.

  I asked around and people told me that the house was haunted, but no one knew the origin of the rumour. The present owner had relocated to Patna and he rarely visited Baunsi. A few years back, he had been elected as a member of the legislative assembly. People told me that the owner had been trying to sell the house, but there were no takers.

  The stories were many. Several locals had seen a ghost wandering around at night. There had been a couple of deaths, too. A few years ago, a gypsy who had pitched his tent in the estate had been found dead. Then, there was a thief who had broken into the house with the intention of stealing whatever valuables he could find. He was found blabbering and just couldn’t remember what had happened to him in the mansion.

  A while ago, a couple of drug addicts had taken shelter in the mansion. One of them died and the other had gone mad.

  Before buying the mansion, I decided to learn why it had been labelled as a haunted place. I called the quiet and efficient caretaker of a nearby bungalow which I had rented on a long-term basis.

  ‘I want to speak to someone who can tell me about the mansion,’ I told Krishna.

  He remained thoughtful for a few minutes and then nodded his head.

  An hour later, I was sitting before a wizened old man who looked at least eighty years old. The caretaker told me that the old man had once been a vaid, an Ayurvedic doctor, who served as the zamindar’s family physician. He was also a trusted friend and had visited the mansion frequently.

  I had been warned by Krishna that the vaid had been ailing for some time. The old vaid was lying on a low bed. He opened his rheumy eyes and looked at me and asked, ‘What do you want?’ His voice was so feeble that I had to bend close to hear him speak.